


Tag, You're It

by daemoninwhite



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Jason Todd is Arkham Knight, Jason Todd is Catlad | Stray, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is a Talon, M/M, Power Imbalance, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemoninwhite/pseuds/daemoninwhite
Summary: Jason is taken. It's apparently for his own good.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Thomas Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	Tag, You're It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/gifts).



> If you read this on a site other than AO3, it's stolen.

Jason curses and presses a shaking hand to his thigh. The wound catches him unaware—fuck, how long has he had this thing? The fight's too fast for him to check every hit, and this asshole's weapons are sharp to the point that he doesn’t notice cuts until the salt of his sweat sets them alight. This is more than just a flesh wound, this is _bad_. Not crowbar and explosions bad, not bullet-to-the-spine bad, but closer than he’s comfortable. From the cut to nearly his calf, his pants are saturated with blood, and have been for long enough that the outsides are starting to dry. 

He has a second to breathe, just long enough to peel the fabric away from the wound—grit his teeth against making a pained sound—and hit it with first a spray disinfectant and then a liquid bandage. Turns out, raiding Dick's Gotham safe houses has multiple benefits, Bat medical tech is far beyond what he’s able to get his hands on as a 'private' citizen, but it still won’t hold out for long, not with the moves this asshole is forcing him to pull, but it’s better than bleeding out while fighting some predatory bird reject--!

He flings his body to the right. Claws slam into the concrete where he’d been crouching, chunks go flying.

He shoots the asshole in the face. Twice. He doesn’t have the goddamned luxury of pulling his punches right now. Both hit, but whatever the fuck that helmet is made of, it holds up even at close range. Both bullets ricochet off.

He can’t get away for long enough to switch to a higher calibre bullet. This piece of shit is fucking relentless.

He shoots again, throws himself back in the same movement. The fucker _keeps coming_. Jason manages to dodge the first swipe but not the follow up. Asshole’s claws sink into the almost invisible seam between the face plate and the rest of Jason’s hood and wrenches it off 

Fuck. _Fuck_. 

Asshole is gonna go for his face—his _eyes_ —and Jason doesn’t have a way to protect them, those claws are gonna shred his mask like paper. He ducks, a lame, last attempt to avoid going blind, but Asshole doesn’t take the opening.

Instead he ... stares. Right at Jason’s face. Like it means something to him.

“You’re...” they breathe.

Jason unsheathes Talia’s knife. It won’t do a thing against that armour, but it should be able to get through the underarmour. He darts forward–he’ll feint for the throat, go for the gut, with the way Asshole moves it has to be thinner there to allow for proper movement–

Something slams into his back. Already off balance, halfway through his lunge, Jason collapses onto his hands and knees. Talia's knife goes spinning off into the darkness. The weight shifts, vanishes, and a figure dressed in all black drops down in front of him.

Jason shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet, tenses—with Player 3 here, he’s outclassed and outnumbered, he has to leave, has to escape _now_ –but Asshole steps up, gets a grip on the broken edge of Jason’s hood and jerks it back.

Jason flows with it, rears back, ready to fight. Nearly faster than Jason can track, Player 3 pulls something from their waist and points it at Jason. Jason takes a quick breath at the too-familiar hiss of an aerosol can. Jason can hold his breath for three minutes.

Asshole sucker punches Jason.

Jason gasps, coughs, he can’t not, and whatever drug they’re using is powerful. His vision tunnels. The distant floodlights gain a rainbow halo. Asshole steps back and Jason doesn’t have the strength to keep upright, he drops back into his knees and it’s only Player 3 grabbing his shoulder that stops him from faceplanting into the concrete.

P3 lowers Jason into his back and Jason winces. The floodlights might be distant but they’re so _bright_ , it _hurts_... P3 leans over him, blocks out the light, and Jason still can’t see their face, but they are silhouetted against the light, and they...

They’ve got cat ears.

That can’t be...

P3 speaks and it’s like they’re speaking underwater. “Damn ... hit him...”

They sound like...

He sounds like...

Jason sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (much belated, oh God so belated) birthday to the ever wonderful Scandal Savage!


End file.
